Five Times
by 60sec400
Summary: ...Five times Damian thought of Dick Grayson as his father, and the one time Dick thought of Damian as his son. Future-fic. YJ characters will show up later. Batman!Dick and Damian as Robin. With guest appearances from Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph.
1. No 1

**I do not own any of these characters! They belong to DC Comics respectively and I am only using them for my, and other's enjoyment, thank you! I hope you enjoy!**

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1.

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Damian sat across from Dick with a scowl on his face. It wasn't an unusual position, but it was Christmas time and generally Damian was pretty good maintaining the façade of fake enjoyment. Well, Dick knew that Damian was actually enjoying himself and Damian knew that Dick knew that Damian was enjoying himself but they never addressed it. Currently, they were not-arguing over who got to give the gifts to each other first.

Dick's, I'm-the-oldest-argument could only go so far and Damian knew he could get Dick to sway after a couple of hours with the I've-only-had-a-few-Christmas's-before and I want this one to be good. In the end, Damian won, and so the next morning it would be deemed that Damian would give his gifts, then Tim, then Jason is he decided to show up and if he had any, then Bruce, and then Dick because Dick always gave his gifts first so it was only fair he gave his last.

"I don't think you're being very nice to me, Lil' D," Dick said, pouring the kid some hot chocolate. Damian sat across from him on the counter, head resting on his arms as he leaned over the cool stone.

"According to Drake, you've always given your gifts first," Damian inquired, "thus the tradition should end. I'm the youngest, and I haven't have very many Christmas's."

"Pulling the youngest card on me? That's low, Kiddo," Dick laughed. He slid the hot chocolate across the counter. Damian held it tightly, pulling it close to him. They were still at the penthouse, waiting until Bruce himself got back from, where was he? Indonesia? Apparently Tim was already at the Manor, having volunteered to help Alfred set things out. Dick and Damian had just gotten back from patrol a little while ago. There was a duffel bag on the stool next to Damian, and Dick still had to shower and get his own bag ready.

"You always pull the oldest!" Damian snapped, but the tone wasn't his usual sharp anger that it normally was.

"So, I get first dibs!"

"It doesn't work that way!"

Dick rounded the counter and ruffled Damian's hair. The kid had long since stopped pulling away and occasionally he would lean a little into the touch, just enough to keep his older brothers hand on his head a little longer. But then Dick pulled away, said he was going to shower, and disappeared down the hall leading to the bedrooms.

Damian stared after him, the slight smile on his lips fading away. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of going to the Manor. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend Christmas with family, he just didn't understand why they had to spend it there. Or why Drake and Todd had to come, but he didn't voice that out loud. Damian was perfectly content with spending Christmas just with Grayson, in the penthouse and not at the Manor. Maybe Gordon could come, because that would make Grayson pleased, and then that would be alright.

He looked over at the bag that Dick had already packed with the Christmas presents. He'd gotten Tim a history of Computer design and graphics, something Drake had never had the time to read up on and he'd gotten Todd a new gun holster, despite the fact that Grayson was vehemently against the guns in the first place. Damian didn't know what Grayson had gotten his father, nor what he'd managed to find for Damian.

Not that Damian had looked at all.

He was above such childish things.

Damian slumped over and lightly tapped his fingers across his hot chocolate cup, his frown deepening. Did he have to share Grayson with the others?

Damian glanced over where the sound of the shower was coming from. They could stay here at the penthouse, by themselves, and enjoy the snow falling around the city of Gotham. Perhaps they'd sleep on the couch to the view and in the morning, Grayson would make up breakfast and some more hot chocolate and they'd open their presents and enjoy a silent Christmas morning. Damian would be perfectly content spending time just with Grayson, a man who cared for him and wanted Damian to have a wonderful Christmas despite the harsh previous year.

Grayson would be a good father.

The thought hit Damian like a brick. He blinked, his eyes flickering to the hall again before he slipped off the stool. He padded over to the couch, falling into it and slumping over. If Grayson ever did find someone, would he replace Damian? There was Gordon, but they weren't even sure if she could have children. And Damian, who would never admit it, liked Gordon. And even if their relationship had had plenty of ups and downs, Grayson and Gordon did love each other. Grayson could have a family one day, without Damian. And the boy wasn't sure how to feel about it. Because, as much as Damian was loathe to say it, Grayson was a father to him.

He would tuck Damian in at night and remind him of his homework. He was the one who took care of Damian's school problems and his training and he would be the one to make Damian feel like the boy, the child, he was.

And he was Damian's Batman. He was the greatest Batman, better than perhaps Damian's biological father. He'd overheard, one time, Cain and Drake talking. Cain had insisted, rather out of the blue, that Grayson was better for Gotham, for the Batman mantle, and for Damian. Damian had listened intently, hiding behind one of the other doors into the library.

"Damian needs a father, and we both sure as hell know Bruce isn't it," Drake whispered to Cain's proclamation, leaning forward over his plate of reheated spaghetti that Alfred would normally never had left in the library.

"Dick is," Cain agreed. "He's a better father."

"Bruce was… he doesn't know how to handle him," Drake said, frustration entering his tone.

"Not good for Gotham. Dick is," Cain repeated. "Better Batman, too."

Damian heard Drake shuffle, and his voice was further away than before. "Dick's… strong. Strong than I think we give him credit for. And he's been doing this the longest too. He knows how to deal with kids."

"Brings Damian out of his shell," Cain said, moving around the library and closer to where Damian was. He leaned back further into his little niche, thankful he hadn't grown too much yet.

"Damian deserves better than Bruce," Drake seemed to agree. There was more shuffling, and Damian heard books being moved across a surface.

"Has Dick," Cain said, moving away from Damian again.

"Yeah, Dick's… good for him, really good. I know he cares for the Demon, despite everything," Drake said. Damian could feel the scowl on his face.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't particularly think the kid deserves Dick's love," Drake said.

Damian felt his fingers curl into fists.

"None of us do," Cain whispered.

Damian left after that, slipping away down from the manor. He returned up to his room to gather the rest of his things that Dick told him to get. They'd be heading back to the penthouse that afternoon. But he didn't get any packing done. He sat on the bed and thought about the conversation that he'd overheard.

He didn't deserve Grayson's love, no. But Grayson, despite everything, did anyway and perhaps that was why Damian loved him back. Because he knew he didn't deserve it and yet Grayson cared so much anyway. Damian's view of what a father should be had been so skewed and Batman's distrust hadn't helped. Grayson had taught him so much. And how did Damian repay him? He ignored his feelings, thrusting them away for a father who still distrusted and couldn't be around him.

Damian's adopted 'brothers' were all by choice. Damian had been practically thrown at Bruce Wayne, and he'd been raised to believe in everything that Bruce Wayne despised. He had killed before, something Bruce Wayne had never ever done, and he'd been raised by the League of Assassins under lies. And Bruce Wayne… didn't know what to do with Damian.

He was brought back from his memories at the sound of Grayson walking around the kitchen.

"You good D? We gotta head out soon, I'm all packed up!" Grayson exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"Yes," Damian said, shooting up from his slumped over position on the couch. "What took you so long?"

"It's late? And I love hot showers," Grayson said, walking forward to ruffle the kids hair. Damian didn't pull away, smiling a little underneath the older man's hand.

"You're such a girl," Damian said, standing up and brushing himself off. Not that he'd been on the couch for that long, but the motion seemed appropriate. And Grayson didn't dust nearly as much as he should.

"Thank you!"

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Well it's not an insult," Grayson said, pulling up one of the duffel bags from the stools. "Let's go, it's Christmas!"

Damian followed behind, grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his shoulders. He smiled a little, the thought of spending Christmas with the man who was more of a father than he ever deserved a comforting thought on his mind.

 ** _To be continued..._**


	2. No 2

**Direct continuation of Part 1.**

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2.

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"And here you go!"

Dick handed Damian the present with that charming grin on his face. He'd been edgy all morning, bouncing around and ever the most excited about giving out gifts. Somehow, they'd managed to get the whole family to come, including Jason, and Dick was ready to give his gifts out by the time they'd finished breakfast and migrated over to the tree. Alfred had conveniently disappeared, despite their insistence he join them.

Jason and Tim had gone slow on purpose and by the end of everything, Dick looked like he was going to explode. Cass and Steph had had the curtesy to move things along with their own gifts. And Dick could've sworn that Bruce had slowed down his process a little too. Dick had given all his gifts immediately and then shoved his favorite and the one he was the most excited for into Damian's waiting hands.

Damian looked down at the carefully wrapped box. It looked like one of the clothes boxes, but was much heavier. His father had gotten nice new ties and a Christmas sweater that they all knew he would only wear for Dick's sake. He had been happy with Jason's gift, but the man had begrudgingly thanked Dick and asked how he knew he needed a new one. Tim had already opened the book he'd received and was reading it. Cass got new ballet shoes, and Steph was fawning over a small little purple heart necklace.

"You're the last one! It's my favorite, and I think you'll like it!"

Damian looked down at it and slowly, with a small smug smile, began to unwrap it. He could tell it was killing the older man, but he carefully unfolded the small pieces of paper.

"Get on with it already, kid!" Todd snapped. He was leaning forward though, curious too.

Damian got the paper off and slowly lifted the book. In the center was a long, old and worn looking leather book. The edges were faded, showing faded brown underneath where the leather had chipped away. He pried it out of the box. About halfway through the pages were crinkled and used, obviously from something wet.

"I don't understand," he said, confused.

"You got him an old book?" Jason asked. "Jeez, Golden Boy, you're usually good about gifts." He patted the holster next to him.

But Dick was smiling. He reached forward and opened up the book to show the first page. "It was my mother's sketchbook. She never got to finish it before she… before she died. And I know you like to draw and sketch, I thought maybe you could finish it." Dick's face was growing red, and he scratched the back of his neck. "I can understand if you think it's a little lame—."

Damian shoved the present to the side and lunged forward to wrap Dick in a hug. He felt the man's arms wrap around him. "Thank you!" Damian yelled.

"Oh, whoa, okay! No problem, kiddo!"

Damian pulled away, fearing that perhaps Grayson would think he actually enjoyed hugs. He turned back to the present and pulled it back into his lap. The first page had a signature.

 _To Mary,_

 _Merry Christmas from Dick and John! We love you!_

 _Love, John_ _and Dick_

And underneath that was fresher ink, blacker, and in sharper scrawl.

 _To Damian,_

 _Merry Christmas from Dick! I love you, kiddo! Maybe you can finish what she started!"_

 _Love, 'Grayson'_

He opened up the sketchbook and felt the rest of the family crowd around him. There were small watercolor sketches of the Eiffel tower, of the trailer that the Grayson's had lived in. There were clipped polaroid's of pictures of the family. A pen and ink sketch of a café in Spain next to a graphite drawing of a series of columns in Greece. There were drawings of muscles and hands, feet, arms, backs, eyes. Damian flipped through further. There was a small drawing of young 'Dick, Aged 6'. Drawings of a castle in Germany, a market in New York. Some were familiar, ones in Gotham or places he'd seen in Star City or Metropolis. There were five or six pages dedicated to geometric tiling designs. Underneath, she'd written 'Morocco, 2003'.

"I don't know," Damian said suddenly, "I'm not that good—." He felt unsure of himself, a feeling he didn't particularly like. But this was a heavy gift. He was getting something from Grayson's parents. It was something that clearly Grayson loved, that he cherished. And he was giving it to Damian— he was giving a gift to Damian that was so important. This was the gift you'd give your child. Someone who'd continue a legacy.

"I didn't inherit my mom's talent," Dick shrugged, "and it won't get finished. I want you to finish it, Lil' D. You'll do great!"

"Okay, yes, thank you, Grayson," Damian said, a smile tugging at his lips.

They dispersed later and Damian went up to his room that was here. Most of his stuff was at the penthouse, but he kept some things here. Some books and clothes that he didn't wear often. There were a few of his weapons on the walls, but nothing that was particularly comforting. It wasn't home. Damian turned away from his empty room.

He grabbed a pen from the desk and laid out the sketchbook on it, opening it to the first page. There behind the hardcovers were the notes to the giftees. On the opposite page was thicker paper and a 'This Book Belongs To…' with the name Mary Grayson signed beneath it on a line. Damian took the pen and touched it to the paper just beneath the line.

He wrote down 'Damian' and then paused. He'd figure out the rest later.

He opened the book to the newest page, it was clean and straight, a little messy from some ink that had stained through on the other page. He smoothed it out.

What to draw?

He looked around his room. There were was couple of pictures he hadn't taken with him to the penthouse still pinned up to a cork board behind his desk. There were mostly pictures of him and Grayson that the man had gotten printed. At the time, Damian found most of them sentimental crap but now he was thankful for the memories. He tore one from the corkboard of him and Grayson at an ice cream shop. It'd been shut down recently, but they'd gone last year before that had happened. Grayson had asked a random couple on the street to take their picture. Grayson had his charming smile on full throttle at the camera, and he was leaning closer to Damian, his arm across the back of Damian's chair. Damian's own smile wasn't forced, it was small, sure, but genuine. He'd been happy.

The couple had then commented that Damian looked 'just like his father'. Damian had then loudly proclaimed that Grayson was not his father and who dare assume as such and then Grayson had silently thanked them and they'd gone home silently.

Now Damian wasn't so sure about his statement. He had regretted ruining the moment later, but at the time it hadn't been a question. Grayson never mentioned the outburst and there was no reason for him to— Grayson wasn't his father. At least, he wasn't biologically. But Damian's own father had been a father to Grayson, and they weren't related biologically either at all. Biology, as much as Damian was loathe to admit it, didn't really make much of a difference.

He placed the image on the sketchbook page, taping it down. He grabbed one of his pencils and slowly began to draw the picture. Underneath, when he finished, he wrote 'Grayson and I, 2022'. He looked at it with satisfaction and then nodded. Yes, a good addition.

He began to flip back through the pages, looking at all the sketches and drawings Mary Grayson had compiled over several years. The oldest ones had faded considerably and even the recent ones from 2005 were rough. There was small notes along the margins, grocery lists, book titles, and songs. Damian made a note to ask Grayson about them.

Some of the margins held phone numbers.

Call Sarah L. 753-8745

"Curious," he remarked before turning the page. Another margin full of notes. This time, though it appeared to be a code. EmGDAm and a strange series of lines with dots on it. Damian frowned. A code. Strange. What reason did Mary Grayson have for writing in code? He turned quickly and pulled out a sheet of paper from the desk and sat down writing anything he could come up with. He wasn't quite as well-versed in codes as he should have been, his training in that area had been cut short. The dots must've been equal to the letters, but Damian couldn't seem to make the connection.

He scowled. This was ridiculous. Morse code didn't work. The dots equaled nothing. He held the pen tightly and slammed it on the desk. How could some woman in a circus create a code that a son of the Batman couldn't break!

He hopped off the chair and pulled the sketchbook underneath his arm, leaving his room to go find Grayson. The Manor wasn't empty, no, but it felt that way as he padded down the stairs toward the main levels. In the distance, he could hear Drake in his room. He heard Brown laughing from the library, where she and Cain had remained at the end of the gift giving. Todd had disappeared, no doubt leaving as soon as he could.

Grayson was in his father's office. They were talking about something seriously, given Grayson's unusual solemnity. The tense atmosphere didn't leave when Damian opened the door.

Grayson turned toward the sound, frowning. "Dami?"

"Grayson, father," he sniffed. "I apologize for my interruption."

His father opened his mouth but Grayson laughed. "It's alright, what's up?"

Damian slowly entered the office, ignoring the glare his father was sending Grayson's way. He handed the sketchbook to Grayson and opened it up to where he'd drawn the picture of them.

"Is it satisfactory?"

Grayson stared down at it blankly before he laughed. "I love it kiddo! I told you you'd be great! I didn't even know you still had this picture." The unspoken words between them were obvious. Grayson didn't think he'd have kept it after the incident after it'd been taken.

"Of course," Damian insisted, standing on his toes to look down at the sketchbook better. "I enjoyed the time we spent together." He turned to his father. "Would you like to see?"

Bruce Wayne hesitated a moment before he nodded, holding it hand out. Grayson passed the sketchbook silently. His father stared at it for a moment before he smiled. "It's very good, Damian."

Somehow, the words didn't mean the same to Damian as they did when they came from Grayson. His father handed the sketchbook back to Grayson, who stared down at it for a moment before giving it back to Damian.

"It's great, you've got real talent, Damian. I'm serious."

"I appreciate your comments," Damian said, "They've been noted. I do have a question about the code."

Grayson blanched. "Er, code?"

"Yes," Damian huffed. "Surely you've cracked it after this long." He flipped the pages of the book back to where he'd found the code. The letters and lines sat there taunting him as he handed it back to Grayson. The older man stared down at the code before laughing loudly.

"Grayson!" Damian snapped. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, Dami, you're adorable."

"I am no such thing!"

"You think this is a code?"

"What else could it be?"

"Chord charts," Grayson replied with a smirk. He handed the sketchbook back to Damian and laughed harder. "E-minor, G, D, A-minor. My mom played guitar, she was coming up with a chord progression."

Damian stared down at the letters. Em, G, D, Am. Chords. Sounds. He felt like an idiot. "Noted," he muttered, and turned back away from them and left the room without another word, shutting the door behind him. He didn't move though, leaning back a little to hear anything. It was silent for a long minute.

Grayson's muffled voice shifted through the door. " _Really,_ Bruce?"

Damian didn't wait along to hear his father's reply, scampering off back to his room. He wanted to go home.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	3. No 3

_"_ _Robin, you copy?"_

"All clear, Grayson," Damian whispered, touching his fingers to the comm. unit in his ear. There was a muffled sound of a body hitting the ground through the comm. and Damian heard Batman's grappling over the distance.

 _"_ _No names in the field,"_ Batman replied.

Damian pursed his lips and leaned a little further out of his perch on the rooftop. They were over the docks, near Wayne Enterprises own warehouse, shutting down a drug bust from Black Mask's men. Batman had instructed Damian, as Robin, to take the East end where the shipment was coming from. He was waiting for Batman to take out the west side of the operation. There was a biting cold that numbed Damian's face and his fingers felt frozen as he gripped the iron railing in front of him. As much as he enjoyed this, he really wouldn't have minded being back home in the penthouse and drawing in his new/old sketchbook.

Thus far, he'd filled it with sketches of pictures, Alfred the Cat, a drawing of just the west end of the Manor, and some old trees he'd found at the back of the grounds. He'd been keeping it from Grayson so far and figured that once he'd filled it all up he could show him and demonstrate how much he'd improved.

He hadn't said anything about it, but he'd written Damian G. underneath Mary Grayson's name. It'd been a split second decision that he hadn't even realized he'd been doing until he'd done it. And then he'd groveled around the penthouse for a day and a half until Grayson told him to "Cowboy up" which was possibly the stupidest expression on Earth.

" _Head down and around toward the water, I see a truck coming in,"_ Batman's voice said through the comm. _"Don't take anyone out yet, I want all their guards to report in on that side."_

"Copy that, Gray— Batman," Damian replied, a faint blush covering his cheeks as he reached for his grappling hook. He swung it out and zipped silently past some guards. The barest hint of a shadow fell over the Earth and Damian leaned back into one of the shipping containers. A guard with a large gun passed by him unawares. Damian leapt out into the moonlight and back into the shadows, throwing his hands up and flipping onto the top of one of the containers. He landed silently, a slight echo going through the metal.

He walked silently over and flipped onto the next one. In the distance he heard a truck coming in, lights almost blinding. He saw it almost immediately after he heard it and leaned down lower into the container. He couldn't risk their lights landing on him. The truck was several feet away when it stopped, two of the guards walking forward to talk to the drivers. One reached down for his radio.

Damian narrowed his eyes.

A faint voice. "Group 1, report." A pause. "Group 1, report." Another long pause, the man motioned for two more guards in the shadows to head where Batman had taken out the other men.

"Two coming your way, Batman," Robin reported.

 _"_ _Noted,"_ Batman replied.

"Four more."

The man called for the other groups too, but none called in. He motioned for four more men to go. Several minutes later, none returned. The man's irritation was clear. He was turning around calling orders, scowling the entire time.

" _How many men left there?"_

"Two by the truck, including the presumed leader. Two in the truck, drivers. Three more to my left and two to my right. All armed aside from the drivers."

 _"_ _Here is clear. Can you take them out?"_

"Of course," Robin said before he thought too hard about it. If he was smart about it, he could take out the man patrolling and pull the other out from his right into the shadows. They'd shoot at him but if Robin was smart, he'd be out of there and they'd kill their own men. So long as he didn't kill them, he didn't care.

" _Mm. Wait for my signal, you'll know when you see it."_

Damian frowned and leaned further down so he was almost completely flat. He waited and listened. From behind, there was the faint sound of someone walking. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Robin slunk back and tiptoed away from the truck toward the sound. There was one man that Damian had missed still patrolling. He was almost directly underneath where he was sitting. A few more seconds. Damian grinned and launched himself onto the man's shoulders. His knees buckled and Robin flipped off, rolling to a fighting stance.

"What the fu—!?"

"Watch your language," Robin snapped, throwing his leg back and slamming the man's face into the shipping container with his foot.

He touched the comm. "I took out one behind the container. I'd miscounted."

A pause. " _What happened to wait for my signal?"_

"Have you let off your signal?"

 _"_ _No."_

"Then is makes no difference," Robin replied.

 _"_ _It does. But we're not having this conversation now. Get back up and wait for it. This time, do not engage until you see my signal."_

"Tt," Damain scoffed, jumping back up and rolling onto the container. He moved back to where the men were again. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum had moved from his right and out of the shadows. In the distance, and only because he knew what to look for, he could see Batman lurking in the shadows. There was a pause and Batman made eye contact with him, as much as they could through the whiteout lenses. He held up a fist. A pause. And then he threw several smoke pellets out.

Robin grinned and leapt forward. The signal.

A swung around and punched one of the men in the face. Tweedle Dee went down, only firing off one shot before his head hit the ground with a satisfying crack. Robin leapt forward and launched his small self into Tweedle Dum, grabbing the man's shoulders and bringing him down before skidding across the pavement. Dum twisted around on the ground, holding his gun out wildly.

"Come here you little creep—ack!"

Another resounding crack of a gun. Robin's breath stilled. Had he been shot by another member of the group?

The smoke had already begun to clear and Robin could see through the dissipating fog Batman holding the leader up against the truck. The man's face was pale white. Robin leapt up at another one of the men, the one who'd accidently shot his friend, knocking him against the ground and throwing down a punch for good measure.

"Tt," he muttered, "Idiots."

The two other men were down for the count too, taken down by the Batman. Robin looked around him, a slight grin to his face. He'd taken down Tweedle Dee and Dum, and the third man. The drivers were tied up, and the leader was currently being scared out of his wits by Batman. Robin walked up behind him. The man's eyes briefly flickered to Robin before Batman shook him.

"What was Black Mask doing with the shipment?" Batman growled, his voice low. Grayson had gotten much better at the low growl Damian's father could achieve.

"He— ah— he was moving some stuff down for Lex Luthor! That's all he would tell us!" the man insisted.

Batman paused. "Lex Luthor? What is he doing dealing with Black Mask?"

"I don't know! I swear!"

Batman slammed the man against the truck. A small dent cracked behind the man. Robin reached back for his katana.

"Perhaps I should have a go with him?" he asked.

"Oh god," the man whimpered, closing his wide eyes.

"No, head back to the Batmobile," Batman said, his voice losing a little of its terrifying nature. "I'll meet you there." He turned around and slammed the man into the truck.

"Talk, punk," he snarled.

Robin scowled and let go of his katana. He stalked over past the shipping containers and where the man he'd forgotten was knocked out.

Damian kicked him for good measure.

He continued down the path up toward where most of the warehouses were and shot his grappling up and landed on the roof. He shivered, his body cooling down. He knew Batman would tell him what the man reported. Grayson didn't generally hold back when it came to what they gathered. He insisted that they were partners, and that Damian should be aware of what was going on. That didn't stop him for committing his own investigations and doing things on his own, but intel wasn't held back. And Damian appreciated it. He felt appreciated it. If Grayson wanted a different opinion, he'd turned to Damian.

It was so different from how Damian had been raised.

He walked over the roof of the warehouse and pressed a button his utility belt. The glass roof of the Batmobile opened and Damian fell right inside. He folded his arms and pouted. Not even a minute later, the roof opened up again and Batman fell in.

The roof slid up, covering them completely. Batman took off the cowl, returning to Dick Grayson.

"Transporting drugs that were stolen and are important in several cancer researches for Luthor," he said, starting up the Batmobile. The car's low rumble stirred up around them. "Police are on their way."

"I doubt Luthor was using them for cancer research," Damian bit, slipping his mask off.

"No, and Black Mask was transporting them."

"So there's connections to Bane?"

"Probably. I have a feeling that the Luthor drugs were a cover," Grayson said, shifting gears. They remained in silence for most of the road back. Despite the Batmobile's incredible speeds, it still took almost twenty minutes for them to arrive back at the vault. As they got out, Grayson laid a hand on Damian's shoulder.

"You did good today, Damian, I was impressed," Grayson said, his voice serious despite the grin on his face.

"It was a drug bust," Damian said, even though it ended up being a little more than that, "Hardly impressive."

"No," Grayson said, shaking his head. "I'm proud of you. Once you realized you'd miscounted, you backtrack and got the guy. If you hadn't, he could've snuck up on us and shot. But you fixed it."

Damian sniffed, trying to keep his face composed. "I think I broke his nose."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," Grayson said, shaking his head.

Damian smiled a little. "Truly a misfortune."

"Guy should have thought of that before becoming a hired gun."

"He shouldn't have had such a good face to kick," Damian said, leaning a little into Grayson.

Grayson rubbed his hair, his grinning full throttle. "You did me proud, Lil' D."

Damian paused a little, smiling up at Grayson. "Thank you, Fa— Grayson."

If the older man had noticed the slip up, he didn't note it. He walked away from Damian and up toward the computer, sitting down in the seat. Damian turned away from him and toward the changing rooms and showers that'd been added. He could deal with his lose tongue later. For now, he'd revel in the pride he'd gotten.

He was appreciated, he thought, and there was nothing better than Grayson's proud hand as he guided Damian.

 ** _To be Continued..._**


	4. No 4

4.

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"Tonight I'm taking you to meet the team. You'll be working with them in the future, and it would be good for you to learn some team training exercises," Grayson said, his voice serious.

Damian leaned back over the couch in a very Grayson-like fashion, bending his back over and touching his hands on the ground behind him. He scowled, though he knew that Grayson couldn't see him. "I don't need team training, I work perfectly well enough with you. Or on my own," he remarked, throwing his legs back so he was standing in a handstand.

"Point your toes. And yes, you do. I thought the same thing too. It'll be good for you to learn to work with other people," Grayson replied. Damian pointed his toes.

"Fatgirl or Drake count," Damian said, "I've worked with them."

"With me there."

"On my own."

"Going off on your own because you didn't follow orders and running into them don't count, Damian," Grayson said, his voice still low and serious. Damian flipped back up and shot his mentor a scowl. "Besides, it'll be good for you to interact with kids your own age."

"Then the ones at school certainly count, Grayson," Damian said with a sigh. "I hardly find it reasonable to send me to school at all anyway. I've already gathered more knowledge than those imbeciles will ever consume in their lifetime."

"Hardly," Grayson said, his lips twitching into a grin, "I believe social skills is still something you need to check off."

Damian scoffed and flopped down on the couch. He crossed his arms and glared at Grayson's head. They were sitting in the living room of the penthouse, Grayson with several files out in front of him and Damian with the sketchbook sitting on the table unopened. It was light out still and they'd just finished dinner only an hour ago. Batman and Robin were, apparently, not going out tonight; all because Robin needed to learn to work with a team.

Damian found he didn't mind the idea as much as he detested not spending time learning more from Grayson. He'd begun, subtly, incorporating a more acrobatic style to his fighting. If only because when he and Drake sparred, the older boy wasn't expecting it at all. Grayson's style wasn't as predictable, but patterns arose regardless. Damian's was too straightforward— it was the one thing Bruce Wayne had remarked upon about him. Too forward, too easy to take down. Good, but predictable. So, Damian, eager to impress his father, had begun flinging random fighting styles into his forms. Recently he felt like a mix and match guessing game of Who's Influencing Who's Kicking Your Butt? but he hoped he and Grayson could train separately and not worry about that.

Plus, Grayson tended to explain his actions as he did them, as opposed to doing them and having Damian figure it out later. Not that that was how his father did them either, but the man was too busy with Batman Incorporated to train Damian himself. Thus, Damian was left with Grayson's odd style of fighting being mixed with Damian's straightforward League of Assassin's training. And Damian got praised. He was told he was doing well. He was pushed hard and often Grayson's training routines were ruthless in their execution. But he was improving. Everyday.

"I get social interaction from you," a pause, "and Gordon."

Grayson and Gordon had recently begun talking again about their relationship. She'd taken to visiting every once in a while to hang out with Damian and Grayson. It didn't bother Damian nearly as much as he thought it would.

Grayson… Dick… had been strained recently. Drake had taken a leave of absence to work with the Team and had left Wayne Enterprise's under Grayson watchful eye. And it was only with Drake because Bruce Wayne was "recovering" in the company's eyes. In reality he was dealing with Batman Inc. Grayson had been swamped with business deals, shipment calls, meetings, and public speeches. More often than not, Damian would walk in to find him on the phone, glaring out over of the city and in some argument with a board member.

Gordon had taken to coming and keeping up with everything else, picking Damian up from school, making sure that they were eating. Damian wasn't sure how relaxing it was, but she'd taken Grayson out grocery shopping and the two would do it for the week together as a destresser.

"Two adults almost old enough to be your parents don't count," Grayson countered. "I want you to relax with kids your own age, with people you can trust."

Damian looked away. It wasn't that he was ignoring the feeling, but it seemed Grayson had subconsciously picked up on the action as well— Grayson and Gordon acted, a little, like his father and mother. "I trust you," he said quietly. "Isn't that enough?"

"Trusting people shouldn't be limited, Damian," Grayson said, finally looking over at the boy. "You either trust someone or you don't, and you need more than just me. Having the team as people you can trust would be beneficial for you in the long run. I won't always be here. Eventually, you'll move back home with Bruce and you'll need to work on trusting him."

Damian flinched, his eyes widening just a smidgen before he scowled. "I see." He snatched his sketchbook and held it close to his chest, standing up sharply. Grayson jumped a little, surprised.

"I'll be in my room," Damian snapped. "Please inform me when we are departing."

He stomped off before Grayson could say anything, slamming the door to his room shut. He flopped down on his bed and hugged the sketchbook closer. He hated when Grayson talked about 'when Damian could return to the manor'. It made his stomach drop and his head swim. He didn't want to go back to the manor. Damian was perfectly content living in the penthouse with Grayson, with Gordon's visits, and operating his life from here. He didn't need to return to the manor. The manor wasn't home, not really. It wasn't where Damian did his schoolwork, where he drew and painted. It wasn't where Batman and Robin operated from, nor was it where Damian learned and ate and slept and watched movies with Grayson at.

He didn't want to move back and readjust his entire life over again, to relearn his life and habits and actions in a new place with a father who didn't know what to do with him.

Damian _liked_ it here. Here was home. Why did he have to move back in with his biological father? Grayson was his father, he was the one who cared for him and taught him and was _proud_ of Damian. He wiped the tears that leaked from his eyes. Why was he being so emotional? Couldn't he work through his emotions without wanting to cry? It was silly. He should just walk out there and tell Grayson he would do no such thing as live at the manor because it wasn't home. It was a house, but it was no home.

But he couldn't make his legs move. They felt heavy and tired and like lead. He was afraid. What if Grayson wanted him to go back to the manor? Because while Grayson was proud of Damian, so very, very proud, what if all he was, was just a little brother? Just someone who Grayson cared for out of obligation for the man who'd adopted him? What if he wanted to get on with his life, to worry about his relationship with Gordon and looking out for the company and working through his own hardships without having to care for a twelve year old former assassin who demanded Grayson's attention 24/7? Maybe Damian was more of a burden, more of a someone than anything else? He felt his heart seize.

He loved Grayson, desperately. He yearned for his attention and his praise more than anyone else's— not his mothers, nor his fathers, nor Ra's al Ghul.

Damian leaned up onto his elbows, wiping more tears from his eyes. He didn't want to go back. He was happy. He looked down at his sketchbook and a smile twitched on his face. He'd received the present months ago and he'd barely begun to make a dent in the pages. He looked back over around his room. Some weapons on the wall, a decorative sword lying over his gym clothes from Gotham Academy. On his desk were several textbooks, though the only one that laid open was his art history book. There was a corkboard that Grayson had hung up, insisting that Damian could "hang reminders and memories up there!"

He'd only hung up a couple of pictures and some movie tickets. The most recent was a picture of him, Grayson, and Gordon walking in one of the parks in the west side of Gotham eating ice cream. Grayson had insisted that since it was finally warm out, they get ice cream. Barbara had printed the picture out and given it to Damian.

"You'll find that you won't mind having it in the future," she'd remarked, sliding it across the dinner table.

He stood up and untacked the picture, staring down at his smiling face. It was a large grin. He had Grayson's arm around his small shoulders, and Gordon was on the other side, smiling at the camera she'd held above their head.

He was happy. He bit his lip and flipped the picture over. In Gordon's soft scrawl, the words "Damian, Dick, and I, 2023". He smiled and tacked the picture back up.

There was a sharp knock on his door. Damian turned.

"Come in," he said sharply.

Grayson slowly opened the door. "Hey, Lil' D. Headed out in five. Do you want to spend—."

"No," Damian said, not even entertaining the thought of going to spend the night there with a bunch of idiots.

Grayson hesitated. "Right, okay. I'll wait out here."

He closed the door softly. Damian turned to where the Robin uniform was hidden. He lifted up one of the paintings on the wall and pressed his hand to the invisible scanner. The wall slipped open with a hiss and the uniform stood there in its case. He put it on as slowly as he could and then slipped out of the door. Batman was waiting for him. The windows of the penthouse were blacked out completely.

They left in silence, Batman only occasionally looking over at him. They'd been working together for well over a year, and Robin knew that Batman knew that something was upsetting him. He stared straight ahead, rolling and flipping and zipping up buildings in silence. They dropped down at the Zeta-tube not fifteen minutes later.

"Want to tell me what's wrong before we go in?" Batman said, his voice a low growl.

"I'll tell if you tell me what's bothering you," Robin replied, crossing his arms.

"I asked first."

"You're a child, Grayson," Robin said, rolling his eyes beneath the mask despite the endearing joking-ness of their relationship.

Batman stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable. "The team's never seen me as Batman before," he admitted. "Every time I've come in the past, I'm Nightwing."

Robin frowned. He hadn't met the team before aside from various members with his excursions with Grayson-as-Nightwing. He enjoyed the Martian the least— she was chatty and had the personality of a rainbow rabbit. Artemis, the Atlantean, and the Clone he could handle. West was bearable only because he had learned when to shut up. And that was only the original team. He hadn't even met Blue Beetle or the shapeshifter.

"You're worried? Being Batman is an honor," Robin said, but he knew the words were hollow. Being Batman was different to Damian than it was to Grayson and Damian wasn't even sure how he felt about it anymore anyway.

"Maybe," Batman replied. "Your turn?"

Robin hummed. "Mm, maybe not!" He swung past Batman and straight into the opening for the portal.

He materialized just as the computer called his name. Before him was the frozen faces of various members of the team. The Martian and the Clone were there, both looking a little surprised but not unfamiliar with Damian altogether.

Recognized Batman B-01

Immediately the team jumped up, standing frozen as they watched the man who they thought was probably the original Batman enter their field of view. Connor and M'gann glanced at each other and frowned.

"Batman," M'gann said, stepping forward, "you're back. We… didn't realize. I thought Nightwing was supposed…" her voice trailed off as Grayson glared at her. He had to maintain Bruce's dignity at least and currently he was Batman, no cheery grin and laugh would suffice.

"I'm introducing him to the team," Batman said, his voice low. Connor cocked his head to the side and frowned, no doubt hearing a slightly different voice under the cowl. Batman turned to where the team was standing.

Blue Beetle, Kid Flash, Wondergirl, Beast Boy, Raven, Bumblebee, and Cyborg. Only Blue Beetle and Kid Flash looked vaguely uninterested in Batman, the novelty having rubbed off. No doubt they'd think the same if they knew it was Nightwing, really, beneath the cowl. Wondergirl, Donna, was staring at Robin with rapt attention, memorizing his every detail and likely sizing him up for a fight. Raven leaned around the girl with a frown, her cloak drawn up over her face.

"Whoa, is that the new Robin?" Beast Boy exclaimed, turning briefly into a bird and flapping over to land on Damian's shoulder. Robin scowled and brushed the boy off.

"Don't touch me," he snapped.

Beast boy squawked and landed on the ground in his human form in a heap. "Hey!"

"Yes, Beast Boy," Batman replied, only raising an eyebrow behind the cowl. "He'll be joining the team. Just as Red Robin did when he was Robin. Where is he?" He turned to M'gann and Connor. The Martian jumped a little.

"Oh, he's in the training room?"

Robin's eyes widened. "You can't expect me to work with—!"

"No names," Batman said sharply. Grayson was clearly upset by Damian's deflection from earlier and Damian could hear it in Batman's voice, even if the other's couldn't. Robin leveled his glare at the team. Wondergirl crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at him.

Robin ignored her and turned back to Batman. "Batman!" he exclaimed, his voice rising.

"Deal with it," Batman snapped. Robin blinked, jumping a little. Grayson was madder than he thought. "Robin will begin training with you this week. I expect everyone to get along… professionally."

"We can do professional," Cyborg said, a little laugh to his voice despite his clear attempts to remain calm. The team all nodded, only Beast Boy grumbling from his spot on the floor.

"Good, I expect nothing less," Batman said, placing a hand on Robin's shoulder. Damian looked over at the glove and up at his mentor. It was a truce, for the time being. His shoulder sagged and he turned back to the team. They looked a little apprehensive. Robin wanted to be here less than they did.

Batman turned back to Robin. "I need to speak to Miss Martian and Superboy. Can you stay here and not kill anyone?"

"No promises."

"Good enough," Batman said. He gestured for the two oldest members to follow him and disappeared down the hallway. They walked silently to the library until they were standing there waiting for Batman to speak. He didn't say anything, only standing there with his arms crossed.

"Um," Miss Martian started, "Batman, um, do you really think this Robin is really ready to work on a team? I know he's struggled with… restraint in the past."

Batman remained silent for a moment before his shoulder's sagged and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. When he spoke, the growl from his voice was gone. "He is. He's come really far, M'gann."

Both the alien's eyes widened.

"Nightwing?" Connor breathed. "But, I thought—."

"B is busy with Batman Inc. Gotham needs a Batman. I've been acting-Batman for the past year. When I've come to the cave, I've been Nightwing. But that's only because our identity's need to remain separate. Gotham, or the team, can't know that Nightwing is Batman right now. It'd throw everything into an uproar."

M'gann nodded, sitting down into one of the green couches and curling her knees up. "That's why you didn't act any different in front of the team. Batman needs to be Batman…"

"And Nightwing needs to be Nightwing," the man finished. He turned to Connor too. "Sorry for not saying anything."

"It's alright," Connor said, "you're right. So, Robin."

Dick slipped off the cowl and sighed. He slid down into one of the seats across from M'gann. The Martian smiled at him and Connor gave an encouraging nod. Dick had grown close to both of them since he'd led the team almost seven years ago. He'd stepped down and taken a leave of absence and had since rescinded his leadership to have a more training-mentor type thing with the teens.

"I think I made him mad," Dick said with a wince. "And I don't know what I said."

Connor leaned on the couch and crossed his arms. "You don't usually make him mad, right? Like, he acts like it but he isn't usually actually angry?"

Dick ran a gloved hand through his hair. "I don't know. I just don't get him. Like sometimes he seems happy and… well as happy as he lets me think he is. And then… I mention or say something about, I guess." Dick paused, his eyes wide and then he squeezed his face and let out a long sigh. "Oh. Oh my god, I'm a terrible detective."

M'gann blinked and then she and Connor both said, "What?" at the same time.

"Oh my god. Every time I mention him going back to B," Dick whispered. "He gets really upset. I didn't think anything of it. I just thought it was him being upset about it not having been done yet."

"Why wouldn't he want to go back to, uh, his dad?" M'gann asked, pausing a moment to look at Connor. The clone shrugged and turned back to Dick. He had a frown on his face. He cocked his head as if to listen to something far away.

"I… I don't know. I just want to the kid I be happy and be with… with B. I had eight years, guys. Eight years with my dad. I just want to get as much time as he can," Dick said slowly.

"Dick, think about how lucky he is for a minute?" Connor asked. "Just a minute."

Dick paused. "I'm not sure if I'm following."

"You just want him to be happy," Connor said, "You love him a lot."

M'gann nodded. "Dick, you want him to be happy. He's… like your son."

Dick looked away, brow furrowed. "He's not. I'm not his father."

"You want to be."

"It doesn't matter. That's not the point," Dick whispered.

"Yes it is!" Connor insisted. "Yes it is! You love him so much that you want him to be happy! You want to be with him. This kid… Damian, you want to be there for him. Your proud of him, you're happy for him. You cannot imagine… how much I would've wanted someone like that ten years ago."

Dick didn't say anything. He only leaned further in the chair. He sighed after a moment, running a hand over his face. "That kid deserves so much."

M'gann leaned forward and reached for Dick's shoulder. "You can give it to him."

Dick smiled hollowly. "This is uncharacteristic for you two. Usually I'm better about no personal stuff at the cave. Especially in this," he said, gesturing to the Batman costume.

"You usually don't snap at him like that," Connor said. "And I could tell you weren't the, uh, Big Guy from your voice. Just like a little inflection that normally isn't there."

"Yeah and yeah. Kid needs to not flip his attitude 180 degrees every time I say something that mildly inconveniences him too," Dick said, grinning a little.

"Well this is a little more than that," M'gann said, smiling back. "But probably not."

"True, and you'd think," Dick laughed. "I'll figure it out eventually. I'm not sure where I stand with him," he said honestly. "I'll work on it. Maybe I should come to you guys more often with this parenting stuff." He paused a little at his wording and shook his head, standing up and pulling the cowl on.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said in Batman's voice before he swept past them.

Connor looked at M'gann, one eyebrow raised. "Think it'll be alright?"

M'gann looked out where Batman had disappeared. She sat in thought for a moment before she smiled. "Yeah, it'll be alright."

 _ **To be continued…**_


	5. No 5

5.

* * *

 _"_ _It ain't no use sit and wonder why Babe! If you didn't knooooooow by now!"_

Damian slid further into the seat of the car they were driving, Grayson's voice growing obnoxiously nasally as they drove down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. They were currently headed to a business meeting that they couldn't miss having to do with their Washington D.C location. In reality, the meeting was in a couple of days, but Dick had insisted on dragging Damian down for a road trip several days ahead of time and to take him to various places from Gotham to their final location just outside of the nation's Capital.

So far, they'd hit the Statue of Liberty in New York and the Cloisters and Garden Museum also in New York. Then the Train Museum in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Then they hit Philadelphia and got cheese steaks and then they hit the Inner Harbor in Baltimore and Edgar Allen Poe's home as well. Damian found most of the places mildly fascinating if only so he could people watch.

But Grayson was arguably the worst to drive anywhere with unless it was in the Batmobile or on his motorcycle. It had taken Damian a long time to figure out how Grayson had convinced Bruce Wayne to allow a motorcycle at all. But he figured it boiled down to— do you want constant movement with free space in a car or my thoughts completely focused on not dying? Apparently Grayson must've won. But he fidgeted and sang and messed with buttons. It drove Damian insane. He would turn the volume up, then down, and then up again. He'd open the windows, then close them. And then decide he wanted the air conditioning.

And he was also self-conscious of the speed of his windshield wipers.

 _"_ _I'm a-thinkin' and a-wonderin' all the way down the road! I once loved a woman… a child I'm told!"_

Damian's face grew redder and he folded his arms across his chest, glancing up at Grayson. He tried not to be too obvious about it, but he knew Grayson had seen him when the man's grin pulled back and grew even larger. "Are you trying to be annoying or is it just natural to you, Grayson?"

Grayson bobbed to the music. "The words 'annoying' and 'Grayson' don't belong in the same sentence!" he cried excitedly, turning around to look over his shoulder as he sped into the left lane.

"You're bouncing like a child," he said, but his heart wasn't in it. In fact, ever since he and Grayson had fought several weeks ago, Damian had been mentally preparing himself to return back home to the manor any day. Well, it hadn't been a fight. But the air around the penthouse had been tense. Grayson had disappeared moments after introducing Damian to the team to talk to Superboy and the Martian. Afterward, he returned and appeared deeply trouble. Thus far, Damian hadn't been able to pull what they'd discussed out. Gordon was no help, and whenever Damian asked she brushed him aside and said it was "Dick's business and his to tell".

But Damian had a feeling it'd had to do with him. And it pained him to admit it, but he was hurt that Grayson wasn't telling him anything. He knew they had good communication for their partnership, perhaps even better than Grayson and Damian's biological father, and Grayson rarely withheld information. Not unless it had to do with Damian and Grayson had to soften the blow of something.

He figured that this trip was a singular goodbye/farewell trip. That after this, once they'd returned, Grayson would return to being Nightwing and go back to Bludhaven and Damian would be shipped off to his father be his Robin. He leaned against the window, pulling one of his legs up and wrapping his arms around it to keep it from sliding off the seat. Grayson bobbed to Janis Joplin.

He'd already mentally established that, no, he didn't really want to go back because Grayson was like a father to him. Home was the penthouse. But if Grayson was going to send him back, it would be a battle of wills; Damian would not let it show once that he didn't want to return. If he wanted Damian gone, then Damian would go willingly off to the Manor and comply with Bruce Wayne's rules. He reached forward and turned the woman off of the radio.

"Grayson," he started and paused a moment to look over at his mentor.

Grayson was frowning and he glanced at Damian only briefly as they pulled off of the Parkway and into Lanham. "What's up D? We're almost there."

"It's not that. I simply wanted to inform you that I appreciate you for taking care of me in my father's absence, even though it was only out of obligation," Damian continued. He'd had a dreadful thought several nights ago that what if Grayson was only watching out for him because of Bruce Wayne? What if he was only watching out for Damian because his father had taken Grayson in as a boy and raised him, and it was only right to do the same thing? Call it moral obligation. Of course, Grayson knew he saw Damian's father as more… estranged and odd father figure as well, but he had no emotional obligation to caring for Damian. Certainly, Drake and Todd had no qualms about letting him know how much they disliked him.

He'd immediately shoved the thought aside. He knew deep in his heart that Grayson did care for him and loved him and was proud of him. So why didn't he want to keep him? Why did he want to hand Damian off? The thought nagged the back of his mind, eating away at his brain as they got closer and closer to Damian's self-proclaimed farewell road trip.

Grayson jerked backed, braking to stop at a light. He looked at Damian sharply, his hands gripping the wheel of the car. "Obligation? Damian, I'm not obligated to watch because you're B's kid," he replied.

Damian felt relief course through him but he powered through. "I don't understand," he said. "My father raised you because your parents were… gone. You in turn help raise me because my father is gone," Damian said.

Grayson shook his head, slamming his foot on the gas. They jerked forward a little and a man cut in front of them. Grayson narrowed his eyes. "I hate driving in Maryland," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "No, Lil' D. I watch… I care for you because I want to. Because you deserve some semblance of happiness in your life that I hope I could provide," Grayson said. "Parents… listen. Kid's don't owe their parents for raising them. They do it because they want to and they love them. Parents aren't there because they're obligated, they're there because that's their kid." Grayson paused again and cleared his throat, glancing in the rearview mirror and breaking checking the guy behind them. They jerked forward again.

Grayson grinned a little at the man's frustrated honk before he got serious again. "Our situation is obviously different. But the idea is the same. I'm here because I love you, because I love having you with me. I enjoy your company and I'm proud of you." He turned to Damian, grin in full throttle, and rested his right hand on Damian's shoulder. "I mean everything I say to you."

Damian isn't quite sure what to say. "Then why are you returning me to father?" he whispered.

Grayson looked over at him sharply, almost jerking back in the seat. Someone beyond them slammed on their horn. He looked back at the road suddenly, his hands holding the wheel tightly. Damian was turned slightly to look right at him, resting his head on his hand almost nonchalantly.

"Is that what this is about?"

"Perhaps," Damian replied, resting back against the window again.

"Ah," Grayson said. He didn't say anything, almost glaring at the road with rejuvenated anger. Damian was reminded a little of his father— where Grayson moved constantly, Damian's father took to glaring at the road as if his eyes alone could part the cars. He acted like the car was a battering ram. When they drove together, he was far more cautious, but still looked around like he was in the horse.

Damian recalled a time when he'd been in the car with both Grayson and his father. It was like nothing he'd ever seen. Grayson moved constantly and chatted the entire time. Father glared at the road and talked back to Grayson, slapping his hand away from the controls every once in a while. But they were almost in sync. The other never questions when one was or wasn't talking, and they interacted somewhat how Damian imagined their partnership back when Grayson had been Robin.

They drove down the road, heading past a car dealership and a church. Grayson turned the music off, plunging them into silence. Only the cars passing and the rumble of the wheels on the road filled up the air around them. Damian looked around them. They passed another church and a McDonalds and merged right onto the next highway.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

"Bowie," Grayson replied, glancing around. "I'm gonna shove that guys antenna into his ass."

Damian looked behind them in the car and scrunched up his face. "I thought we were going to Washington."

"Metro," Grayson said, jerking his head to his right. "Cheaper than gas."

"Oh," Damian said. He reached forward to turn on the music, Grayson's godawful hippie music, but Grayson reached forward and slapped his hand away from the controls. Damian pulled his hand back, leaning again as far away as he could into the window. He slid the window down. The wind whipped them around them. Grayson slid it back up. Damian turned the air conditioning up. Grayson scowled and turned it off and opened the skylight. Damian turned and threw his feet on the dashboard.

He reached forward and began to mess with the bass and volume levels. Grayson glanced over and gripped the wheel tighter before he slowly pushed Damian's hand away. Damian looked around the window. They were driving through woods now, back roads. They went around a traffic circle and came out next to a large mega-church. Grayson swung the car around the light and sped up, slowly edging the speedometer to 60. Then 70. Damian looked at the speed limit sign. 50 miles per hour. Damian slowly moved his seat up. Then back. Then up and then back. Then he lifted the back of the seat and put it back down again. Then he moved it up, then down.

"Okay!" Grayson finally snapped. "What are you trying to do?"

"Getting your attention," Damian said, pulling his feet off the dash and leaning forward. "I want to talk and you're being difficult."

Grayson signed, glancing at him sharply. They were driving through neighborhoods now. All the streets started with the letter P. "Fine. Fine. You got me," he paused. Then he sighed. "It's not that I…," Grayson paused and shook his head, his shoulder's dropping. "I don't want you to go back to your dad. And maybe I'm being selfish, but I like you being at the penthouse with me. I enjoy having you there, and I know Barbara likes that you're there too."

Damian doesn't say anything, but he feels his heart beating in his chest.

Grayson turned onto another road and they pass a public park and a mall. "I've been arguing with your dad, actually. Do you want some fudge?"

"Tt." Damian paused. "Of course I do."

"Okay. We're going to Annapolis," Grayson said, switching to the right lane. "But like I was saying… B and I have been arguing. He wants you to come back eventually, but I've kept putting it off. I was selfish. I didn't even think about you. And… then a couple weeks ago, when I mentioned you going back and you kinda snapped, I was thinking that I'd never had a lot of time with my dad, you know, because in the grand scheme of things eight years isn't that long of a time. I want you to be with B, really, but I loved," Grayson paused. "I loved having that relationship with you, Damian. I loved being a dad for you."

Grayson turned to look over his shoulder, then to the right, and u-turned back around the way they'd came. The green sign told them 301 was up ahead.

Damian nodded. "I don't want to go back. Home is with you."

Grayson's eyes widened, and he jerked the car a little to the left on accident. They straightened up and slowed to a stop at the light. Damian noted the Wine store across the street, cars pulling in and peeling out quickly.

"Bruce is your dad, Damian," Grayson said, his voice heavy. He looked tired. "You need to be with him."

"I don't want to!" Damian cried. "I have gone over this in my head many times. My home is with you, in the penthouse. I don't want go back into the manor. I… I don't even…" he looked away, his hand curling into a fist. "He didn't even want me. I know he loves me, and I know I love him too. He's my father. But he doesn't…" he let out a long breath. "I'm not his son, not really."

Grayson didn't say anything, only looking over briefly with concerned eyes.

"I'm yours," Damian said, his voice pleading.

Grayson stopped the car and pulled over to the side of the road. They were around some farms. Wind grazed by them and a car or two passed every few minutes.

"I do like being your dad, Damian," Grayson said, turning his body to face Damian. His hand was on the back of the boys seat, as if comforting. It was, funnily enough. "Even if I'm at your school every other week."

"They're all idiots."

"You brought in a sword."

"Cultural heritage."

Grayson barked out a laugh, shaking his head. He calmed down, biting his lip. "I just… I don't want to replace Bruce."

"You're not!" Damian insisted. "You're much better anyway. And I like living at home with you. You're proud of me. I…" he paused, struggling to admit it out loud. "No one has ever been proud of me before."

Grayson smiled a little, reaching forward to awkwardly pull Damian into a hug. "I am very proud of you Damian, don't ever doubt that."

Damian slipped and held the back of Grayson's shirt. His dad.

"I haven't."

"Ready for some fudge?"

"Tt. Of course I am," Damian said, sitting back and smiling.

Grayson reached forward and turned the music up. The soothing voice of Bob Dylan filled up the car, asking how many roads they were going to travel. Damian tried to hide his smile as Grayson turned on the car and they drove down 214. They passed farms and trees and the music was loud and Grayson was singing, and he laughed when Damian tried to hide the fact he was singing under his breath.

They sat on Ego Alley eating large blocks of fudge. Grayson asked someone to take their picture. When they said how much his son looked like his father, Grayson just grinned. Damian hide a smirk behind his half-eaten fudge.

"You know," Grayson said, wiping his fingers with a napkin. "Do you think Alfred will kill us if he knew we were eating fudge? I wanted to post this on Facebook but…" he frowned at Damian dramatically.

"I think either way he'd find out. Did you use your card?"

Grayson looked down at his fudge and then up at Damian. The wind blew around the, whipping Grayson's too long hair into his face. "I might've. If he asks, deny everything, admit nothing, and make counter accusations."

"I'll plead the fifth."

A pause. "Good enough."

A week later when they got back to Gotham, Grayson had a long meeting with Bruce. Damian wasn't allowed to stay at the penthouse all year. He'd have to come to the manor for some of the summer months, and then several weeks in the winter. Bruce hadn't been happy, but he respected their relationship enough to allow it. Life, in the end, didn't change all that much. While the two still argued sometimes, Dick and Damian lived as they had before. Barbara still came. And Damian joined the team after some time. And in the end, Bruce Wayne still traveled as he had. He and Damian occasionally went out as Batman and Robin together when his father was home, but Damian preferred Grayson any day.

Maybe, perchance, Damian could make the "Damian Grayson" signed at the beginning of his sketchbook a reality. Or at least, Damian Grayson Wayne. That didn't have a terrible ring to it.

 ** _To be continued…_**


	6. No 6: Legacy

**6.**

Damian didn't like the other Robin. He didn't want him there, he didn't need him there, and he didn't even want to look at him. It was all an accident anyway, and he didn't understand why the other Robin was allowed to stand there stay with them. It should be left to the League. That, and the other Robin was _pissing_ him off. He wouldn't stand still and take anything seriously and he was loud a little obnoxious and his laugh echoed around the cave and Damian just wanted to punt him off the penthouse and scream into the void.

Nightwing loved it.

That was probably because Robin was Nightwing. Or would, eventually, become Nightwing. Because why didn't they just need a case of time traveling. They were staying in the penthouse because Bruce just couldn't get himself back and so Damian was sitting across a small, thirteen year old Dick Grayson who was stuffing his face full of pizza and drinking cream soda like mad.

He gulped loudly. "If Alfred finds out, I'm gonna die."

Damian scowled further and skulked further into his chair, digging his knife into the pizza. Dick continued to stuff his face with pizza, not even bothering with utensils. Grayson sat across from them, slowly chewing and not quite paying attention to them. He was on his phone, scrolling and reading through something on it. Damian could see the blue glow on his face.

The younger Dick looked between them, folding his napkin over and over into various folds. Damain stared pointedly at his food and then up at Grayson, who was pointedly ignoring the both of them. "So, why does he," he jabbed the napkin at Damian, "live with you?" He jabbed it at Grayson.

The older man looked up and looked like a deer caught in the headlights with his mouth still full of pizza. His eyes were wide. His phone screen flickered and went dark. Grayson slowly set it to the side. "I'm Damian's guardian," he explained, "Just while Bruce is off… doing Batman stuff around the world."

Dick looked between the two of them further, narrowing his eyes. "Okay… so…. He's Robin, I got that. Does he even know what that means?"

"Okay," Grayson said loudly, "Time for bed!"

Damian slammed his fork and knife on the counter, turning his body and the seat slightly to look at the younger Grayson. Dick's face was red, and his blue eyes were narrowed indignantly at Damian. Grayson was frozen in his peripheral, not moving or doing anything. Damian didn't see the glow of the phone again.

"I have a full comprehension of what it means to be Robin! It is to protect my Batman and to prepare to carry on the legacy myself!" Damian snapped, slamming his hands on the counter. Dick didn't back down. In fact, he leaned closer, hands curling into fists.

"It's not to become Batman," Dick snapped, "I never wanted to become Batman! And Robin is more than that, it's… it's… it's a legacy of my own!"

"How could you not want to become Batman?" Damian hissed, almost nose to nose with the boy.

Dick huffed and turned away, stomping off in the hallway. It's quiet when he slams a door, probably to the guest room that he's been sleeping in. The argument was short lived and it's quiet now. Grayson has set his pizza to the side and Damian's lost his appetite suddenly. He shoves his pizza out of the way. His half full glass of cream soda almost falls off the counter, almost to the edge. Grayson stares at it quietly and opens his mouth to speak. But the door down the hall opens up and Dick, the small one, stalks into the kitchen again and slams something on to the counter.

Both Grayson and Damian are staring down at his hand. Dick leaps onto the counter and points at the colors in the picture. "Red, Green, and Yellow," Dick snapped, his finger resting on the chest of his cousin who was wearing the uniform of the Flying Grayson's. "Robin is my legacy, and their legacy. And Mr. I-work-alone doesn't just get to give it away to whoever fits his fancy!"

He leaves the picture there and turns back away, back down the hall. Damian is staring at the photograph and Grayson is staring after his younger self curiously. There's silence except for the door slamming and the news in the background; baseball, the Gotham Knights just scored. The crowd is going wild and the sound of the anchor talking echoes around the room. Damian is still staring at the family, all smiling. There's a small Dick Grayson in there too, younger than the one even they've managed to acquire, and his smile is big and he's holding on to an older kids leg.

Damian slowly shrugged out of his chair, not looking at the picture any further. He tromped off down to his room and slammed his own door shut. His sketchbook, Mary Grayson's sketchbook, was sitting open on his desk. He turned away from it.

He didn't know why he was bothered by the younger-Grayson. Why did the younger version bother him? Grayson had given him the mantle of Robin, even going so far as to strip it from Drake. But he didn't know about the colors, or what else it represented, or that the colors weren't just because Grayson couldn't form a functioning fashion sense. Maybe the younger-Grayson, Dick, didn't like him because he hadn't ever expected to give up being Robin— but Damian expected, even looked forward to, letting Robin go.

He flopped down onto his bed, throwing his arms up over his head. He heard the television turn off in the living room and footsteps go down the hall past his room. The light from the hall turned off and the triangle from the door into his room disappeared. Grayson's door to his study opened and then closed. Damian closed his eyes.

…

The next morning was silent. Dick was standing over Damian, looking down with his arms crossed. Damian could already tell someone was standing there and opened his eyes to find a thirteen year old standing above him.

"What?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," Dick apologized, turning around and sitting on the bed. Damian shifted over a little and looked at his father figure only a year older than him. The kid looked like he barely got any sleep and his arms are wrapped around his chest tightly. It wasn't cold, it shouldn't be, it was spring and Grayson tended to leave the windows open in the spring because it was a waste of money. Not that they were begging for pennies though.

He stayed silent so Dick cleared his throat and kept going.

"I'm sorry about… snapping at you like that," Dick said, shuffling his feet. "The other me explained everything and said that he… gave Robin to you."

Damian remained stoically silent. Dick continued.

"I guess I just can't wrap my head around not being Robin again. I don't know what I expected, because, well, I don't want to be Batman either so… it's just strange seeing myself being Batman, and someone else is Robin. Robin had always been my thing, you know, it was always my legacy."

"I don't understand," Damian said slowly. "Not for a lack of trying, certainly, I do everything I do to the best of my ability. But… I have always expected to be Batman. I never wanted to be Robin in the first place. That's a different matter."

"How could you want that?" Dick whispered. "How could you _ever_ want that?"

Damian felt himself freeze. He didn't know what to say. The legacy he was taught to always carry on his shoulders wasn't the one he held, it was Grayson's legacy. It was Mary and John's legacy. But he felt attached to it too, now, and Robin felt like a part of him too. And all the other Robin's had left… Todd not quite of his own will, and become their own thing. Grayson became Nightwing, Todd became Red Hood, and Drake became Red Robin. Brown was now Batgirl. Did he want to become Batman, or was it just expected of him?

Grayson didn't expect him to become Batman. Of all people, Grayson was the one who wanted Damian to choose his own path.

"Yeah," Dick said softly, "That's what I thought."

Damain doesn't say anything as Dick leaves.

…

They're standing in the Watchtower watching Cyborg and Raven work on the Zeta portal with Mel to find some way to get small Dick Grayson back to the past. The team is nervously walking around eggshells around the small kid, because it's just weird, and the only ones he's okay with are the original members who are still there. He hangs around Artemis and Superboy, watching his older self as Batman and Damian as Robin dictate the others around them.

They finally get it up and running. Dick stands in front of the portal with a smirking grin on his face and he looks like he found the jackpot. None of the league is there, but that's expected. Damian found that Dick didn't want to see the older Bruce Wayne. Damian isn't sure that if he were transported to the future he'd want to see an older Dick Grayson either. They'd be too different, too changed.

As the glow of purple and blue swirled around the kid, he turned and poked Damian in the chest.

"You're carrying a legacy, kid, I'm damned glad it's you," he said and then back-flipped into the portal.

Damian doesn't say anything and just turned around to look at Batman.

"I always needed the last word," he grumbled. "Let's go, Robin."

They arrive at the penthouse hours later, after a late patrol. Grayson falls on to the couch, grabbing Damian with him. They're lying there in the living room. The TV is on again. It's baseball, again, and this time they're winning again. It feels good, even if Damian doesn't give a hair about baseball.

"You choose your legacies alright?"

"Who said I have?"

Grayson looked down and, from Damian's angle, it gave the older man a double chin. "Have you?"

Damian shrugged. "I… choose my own path."

He looked up to see Dick grin. He squeezed Damian's shoulder. "That's what it means to be Robin, Damian. You choose your own path. You fly on your own, when you're ready. Not because I say so, or because Talia or your dad. You make your own choices. That's what being a Flying Grayson meant, kiddo. And the younger me… he was right… I am damned glad it's you."

Damian felt himself grinning but he doesn't say anything.

"You're my kid," Grayson said quietly. "I'm so proud of you, Damian."

 ** _Fin._**


End file.
